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Before every game, Bob Hill brought his teams together for a moment of silence. Hill, who coached in places like New York, Indianapolis, San Antonio and Seattle, didn’t insist on any particular message. It was simply a moment of togetherness before the start of another NBA battle. But it was in 1994 when he got to San Antonio, where David Robinson starred, that Hill was exposed to a more pointed pregame process. During a preseason game against the Knicks, Robinson, a born-again Christian, began to lead the team in prayer. Then, before the next game, the 7ft 1in center did so again. It got to be such a big part of the team’s ritual that pregame prayer became the norm – fitting, Hill says, for a roster that included Terry Cummings, an ordained minister, and Avery Johnson, who was also a born-again Christian.

When it came to George Gervin’s gameday routine, no one was going to mess with his soap opera viewing. Trashy shows helped the Hall of Famer relax so he could drift off into an essential pre-game nap. Without those two-to-three hours of slumber, the “Ice Man” may not have been able to lead the NBA in scoring in four different seasons. Indeed, naps, says Gervin, have been a part of NBA life for some time. Crucial in a profession that has players and coaches up at odd hours, working themselves weary.

Making it to the NBA is a dream come true. Fans can see it on the faces of the players on draft day when their names are called. They arrive at the podium with visions of celebrity, multimillion dollar paydays and glamor as they shake the commissioner’s hand. But no matter how exciting the prospect is of playing in the league, there is more to being human than simply providing entertainment for big bucks. So, what happens when the dream fades and issues of loneliness and trust become part of a person’s day-to-day?

When NBA veteran Tree Rollins got a call from his old friend Brian Hill in the summer of 1993, the wheels started to turn. Hill was the new coach of the Orlando Magic, a team that included a young Shaquille O’Neal and Penny Hardaway. Hill wanted Rollins to come in as an assistant to work with O’Neal, specifically. The 7ft 1in Rollins, who had just come off two seasons with the Houston Rockets backing up Hakeem Olajuwon, contemplated the offer and after a few weeks accepted. For Rollins, in his late 30s, it was a great chance to start the second phase of his basketball life. Little did he know, however, what it would soon turn into.

Before the 1982 NBA finals against the Los Angeles Lakers, Earl Cureton had no idea when he might play in the series. But instead of focusing on what he didn’t know, the backup forward-center for the Julius Erving-led Philadelphia 76ers focused on what he could. Stay ready, observe the game. Don’t lose sight of how to help, even in small doses. It doesn’t matter that you’re a reserve on the sidelines, Cureton told himself. Still, the experience was jarring; his first time in the league’s final series. The playoffs are a different animal compared to the regular season and the NBA finals are even more pressurized. Though this all swirled in Cureton’s mind some 40 years ago, the task remains the same for players today. Indeed, in this year’s NBA finals, players like Denver’s Bruce Brown Jr and Miami’s Duncan Robinson will undertake crucial roles coming off the bench for their squads. But what exactly does it take to excel as a backup in the league – especially in June?

With the NBA’s final four set, let’s take a look at the matchups as the Miami Heat, Boston Celtics, Los Angeles Lakers and Denver Nuggets battle for the title